Jake’s challenge this week is ‘Door’.
From my earliest recollections doors were there to bar my way. Handle hardware was always way above my head, and although there wasn’t a lock in the place until we drove to Adelaide for Christmas in 1956, I was effectively imprisoned once the door was closed on me – which for some reason Ma, and even Papa, did every night. Was I a prisoner? Or was I a treasure to be protected? Either way, I hate closed doors to this day, and take it as being personal excluded when I can’t see inside other’s doors to the lives that are being lived there, just beyond my reach …
This collection of Venetian doors – all closed to me – invites populating, and storytelling. Until I make the time to write them, make up your own stories – I don’t mind!
Check out other doors here: